Slivers of Shadows
by chrisspiration
Summary: It had been Voldemort’s intention all along. Although time had an effect on people, Harry believed that Voldemort would be an exception, and that the world would finally face something worse than Lord Voldemort at his height of power. Two of them.
1. A Timely Intention

Hello everyone! Just a little note to you guys out there to tell you that this is, FINALLY, the re-made story for **FORGET TO SURVIVE**.

This is the prologue - hope you like it! Don't forget to review! And don't worry, time travel will come in due time. Be patient!

**Disclaimer- **I don't own anything related to the Harry Potter books.

* * *

It had been Voldemort's intention all along.

How could he have missed it? All the signs had been there, and it had just been a matter of carefully fitting the pieces of the puzzle together to see it. The wary planning, the murdering of his followers, the beginning of a new generation of Death Eaters; the Blood Snatchers…

It had been inevitable, a calamity waiting to occur, in due time. Time. It was a powerful thing, unpredictable, precious, limited, yet eternal. It was part of an anthology of ancient magic, there for anyone to use it, yet as dangerous and treacherous as a bomb waiting to go off. Now time was in the wrong hands, the worst of the wrong hands. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Harry Potter pulled his legs up to his chest and put on his glasses. Sweat dripped off his forehead and onto his clammy hands as he panted for breath. He had to tell someone; this was a dream that he simply could not keep for himself. The Wizarding World's fate was at stake here, once more, at Lord Voldemort's hand. But who was he to run to? Who was he to tell? He didn't have any parents, or any relatives that remotely cared about his whereabouts or well-being. Harry swung both his legs off the bed and stood up, squinting in the darkness of the dormitory. Soft moonlight shimmered in from the open window at the far side of the room, casting an eerie glow on the scene, producing unknown shadows from the objects scattered around.

Faint snoring came from his right, where Ron slept, completely unaware of the mortal peril he found himself in, innocently dreaming, profoundly asleep. The rest of Harry's dorm mates slept right through his nightmare, also in deep slumber. He was alone; more alone than he'd ever felt in his life, and at this crucial moment, Harry felt a tugging sense of obligation to save the world.

It took him exactly seven minutes and forty-two seconds to find himself where he did right now, standing in front of the tall gargoyle that separated the headmaster's office from the rest of the school. Eleven minutes and twelve seconds after that, he was sitting on a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk as the Headmaster paced around in deep thought. Harry waited patiently, too tired to ask questions, yet thirsting for more insight into the predicament that he found himself in. The Professor didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon, and Harry decided to interrupt his reverie.

"Sir?"

Dumbledore turned slightly and raised his face a fraction of an inch, his intense blue eyes unfocused, in the parallel magnificent world that was his mind.

"You must be wondering, Harry, why it is that we have not taken action?"

"No, sir. Actually, I was going to ask… well, is it indeed possible that Voldemort succeed with this plan? I mean, it's completely absurd, right?" Harry inquired, frowning slightly at the impossibility of such an event occurring. The Headmaster stopped pacing, facing the window on the right, gazing at the new moon hanging in the sky.

"Time is a complex thing, Harry. One cannot completely decipher it, and it is when you think you've begun to understand it that you find yourself ignorant to all but a tiny piece of it. Time cannot be handled carelessly, or thoughtlessly. But is it possible, you ask…" the man trailed off, the question hanging like a thread in the thick air surrounding them. Harry waited.

"I believe… that if certain measures are taken, and certain studies are made…that what Voldemort is trying to do, well, yes, that approach to time travel is possible."

And that was it. There was no more to it. Voldemort could go along with his plan, even now when he was not but a mind and a beating heart. That would soon change. And although time had an effect on certain people, Harry (and he suspected that Dumbledore did, too) believed that Voldemort would be an exception, and that the Wizarding World would finally face something worse than Lord Voldemort at his height of power.

Two of them.

* * *


	2. Operating Alone

Chilly night air swept up Harry's red and gold scarf, making it flutter in front of his eyes. He surveyed the snowy forest beneath him, shivering slightly as a particularly strong gust of wind blew at him. Harry let his eyes slid close for a second, inhaling deeply and then breathing out hot air, visibly coming out of his mouth in the wintertime. His glasses were starting to fog, and small, scarcely discernible rays of sun were beginning to emerge from the horizon. It must have been around dawn, meaning he hadn't slept a wink since the journey with Dumbledore.

It had been successful, in a way, he agreed. They had figured out Voldemort's plan at such an early stage of their scheme that it was a tremendous benefit to them. Dumbledore had then set off to recruit what he called 'loyal supporters and friends' and start building a plan to stop the Dark Lord. Harry was sent back off to Hogwarts, which irritated him much further than the Headmaster could imagine. Had he not been the vital source of information for him? Did he not deserve to be amongst the planning and executing when Voldemort was involved? Perhaps Dumbledore had kept him out as soon as he'd gotten what he wanted from him because he thought it was dangerous. Maybe he thought he was too young. Yet, for being only fourteen, Harry had probably lived ten times what the rest of those men had. Nevertheless, he was being excluded.

Of course, Harry knew enough to go on his own; to try and stop Voldemort singlehandedly. It was pretty simple, nothing extraordinarily unimaginable or complex. Before last night, Harry had only known one method of time travel, and that was through a time-turner. But a time-turner would go back hours, and take only a few people with it. Voldemort's design was onto a much larger scale. Harry had caught a glimpse of Voldemort's new recruits at the basis of time travel; what used to be the manufacturers of the time-turners. The Hogwarts' Headmaster and Harry himself had found that using the correct amount of spells and the necessary potions it was possible to wield a vortex sphere that would transport anything and anyone, anywhere, anytime.

_That_ was Voldemort's plan. That was exactly what the Dark Lord had set out to do. And that was exactly what Harry Potter was going to prevent.

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"Hermione, please," pleaded Harry for what seemed like the umpteenth time. His bushy-haired friend simply ignored him and grabbed a second apple from the tray in front of her. Helplessly, Harry lowered his voice to a whisper. "I need your help. I can't do this on my own. And I have to, you know I do."

This time, he received a sigh and a slight expression of pity.

"I'm really sorry, Harry. You know I'd help you with anything, but not this. You're asking me to personally close the lid of your coffin while you breathe inside it. I won't do this. Even Ron agrees with me, it's completely mad!" she replied, shaking her head. Harry was seething inside. Didn't they understand how much was at stake here?

"Hermione… This is your future, too, you know. Do you think I'm just going to let Vol-"

"Yes." Hermione snapped, looking particularly fierce with a knife in her hand, even if it was halfway through the apple. "You are. This is not your war, Harry. You are going to sit back and let Dumbledore do whatever he thinks is best. Let me inform you that he has a whole lot more experience than you do at this and so do the other twenty or so men that he's got with him. For once, listen to me, and don't get involved."

Harry glared at her and dropped his fork, an unfinished plate of poached eggs staring back at him resentfully. He stood up from the Gryffindor table and nodded.

"All right," he said simply. Hermione looked up at him in wonder, hardly believing he'd given up so easily. "I'll do it on my own. Thanks for your help," Harry added sardonically, walking away before his friend could protest any longer.

What was she thinking? That he'd actually just step back from this? He'd fought twice for the defeat of the Dark Lord, risking both his and his friends' lives to foil Voldemort's plans. Both times he had succeeded. There was absolutely no possible way that he was going to surrender and let Voldemort win that easily. Dumbledore had only just started preparing, and it would take months to get a group of grown men to agree. Harry was alone, with a wand, and a mind set on his plan.

"Oi, Harry!"

He looked over his shoulder, frowning, at the source of the voice. It was Neville, a clumsy, forgetful boy that Harry shared a dormitory with. He really wasn't in the mood for this, but he had no other option. Harry kept on walking as Neville caught up with him, wearing a wary expression.

"Neville." Harry acknowledged him cordially. Neville wasn't put down. "Harry, I heard what you were saying to Hermione, and I think-"

"Look, Neville. I'm sorry but this is really none of your business. And I have to be somewhere right now, so if you'll excuse me…"

"I was going to say that I completely agree with you."

"Yeah, Hermione already gav-" he cut short and stared at Neville. "You do?"

The round-faced boy nodded earnestly, smiling half-heartedly. "I know what you've been through and I really think you could fix whatever is going on. I'd offer you my help but I'd probably be more of a burden than anything…so I'm just offering you my support," Neville told him. His face showed nothing but honesty. Harry was a little taken aback, and flushed slightly.

"Yeah, well, thanks, mate."

"If you need anything… You know, just, tell me. I can try to convince Hermione to help you, because from what I heard you need to brew these really complicated potions (and well, you know _I_ suck at potions) and she could help." He suggested, indicating with his head towards the doors of the Great Hall, from which they had just emerged. Harry smiled gratefully.

"Thanks." He responded. Even if that was all Neville could do for him, it was something. He had someone on his side. Harry patted Neville's shoulder and continued his way up the Grand Staircase. He didn't stop until he had reached the seventh floor, and entered the Gryffindor Common Room. It was mostly empty, seeing as the majority of students was downstairs getting breakfast. The fireplace was unlit, and there were a few cushions strewn across the floor. Harry sat down on one of the couches by the boys' staircase and leaned his head back.

He needed to find someone with knowledge of potions and spells to help him with what he needed to do. The problem was he didn't know anyone willing. Hermione was set against whatever his plan was, even if she hadn't heard the whole lot of it. Nobody else in his year could possibly achieve what he was rooting for, and he didn't personally know anyone in the grades above him, with the exception of his Quidditch team and Ron's brothers…

Then it hit him.

Why hadn't he thought of him before? Sirius! Truth was, he'd only found out Sirius was his godfather last year, when he'd escaped from the Wizard prison, Azkaban. Before that, he'd been a convicted mass murderer to him. Sirius was currently in hiding, somewhere south of England, and living off rats. But he was just what Harry was looking for. Someone he fully trusted, who had a sense of adventure, and who'd want to act on the spot, instead of waiting for whatever Dumbledore had been thinking.

Quick as lightning, Harry stood up and sprinted up the stairs to his dorm, where Ron and Seamus still slept at this late hour. Well, he had to forgive them, it was Saturday. Harry rummaged through his trunk until he found a quill, some ink, and a spare piece of parchment. Once he was back in the common room, he sat in front of a table, dipped his quill into the black ink and started.

_Dear Sirius,_

_I know this is going to sound rash and dangerous, but I need to ask a favor of you. I don't know how much Dumbledore's keeping you informed, but, recently, I dreamt of Voldemort's next plan of action._

_It involves time travel. He's going to go back in time and somehow get his other self to co-operate and then, 'together', start a war fiercer and much more violent than any other. I'm asking you to help me out. I'm going back in time as soon as possible, to try and stop the vortex that Voldemort needs to pass through._

_I'm going alone, and, before you try, my mind's set. I need your help, please._

_Cheers,_

_Harry_

He finished his letter and made his way to the school owlery to send it. It was snowing outside, and the snowflakes caught in his eyelashes, making it harder for him to see. The owlery was empty, and as Harry tied his letter to Hedwig's outstretched leg, he cheerfully realized that Hedwig's plumage would perfectly blend in with England's current snowcap, giving her less chances of being spotted, followed, and having Sirius caught. He watched as his owl flew off into the blizzard, then turned and walked back towards the castle.

Harry was on his way to find Ron when somebody stepped in front of him, blocking his path. It was Hermione, and she looked furious.

"I can't _believe_ you got Neville into this!" she exclaimed, her eyes thin slits, shooting daggers at him. Harry cursed in his mind. He should have foreseen this.

"Look, Hermione. I didn't say anything to Neville-" Yet, once again, she cut him off before he could finish.

"You don't understand the reality of the situation, do you? You could get killed, Harry! I thought I explained the risk of time travelling last year, and I _thought_ you'd understood. As it seems, I was wrong." Hermione retorted, flipping her hair back. Harry started to walk around her, but she was close at his heels.

"Aren't you _listening_ to me?" she half-shrieked. Harry decided to ignore her. "I'm reporting to Dumbledore, then. If there's someone who can stop-"

It was his time to interrupt.

"No you won't." he stated angrily. Why was she being so difficult? "Hermione, just back off, okay? It's my problem if I decided to go and kill myself. I don't need you patronizing every step I take."

He knew what he'd said was harsh, but there was no other way she was going to leave him alone. Hermione stood there, speechless, as he walked off.

Harry reached the common room again and muttered the password,

"Balderdash".

The fat lady's portrait swung open to reveal Ron, finally dressed, about to exit the room. Once he saw Harry, however, he stopped and headed with him to a couch.

"All right, Harry?"

"Yeah. You?"

Ron nodded suspiciously. "All right," He seemed to think for a moment, and then asked, "Did you get Hermione to help you with whatever you needed?" Harry shook his head dejectedly and frowned.

"As of right now, I'm probably par with a blast-ended skrewt in her book." Harry replied simply, picking up the quill and ink he'd used earlier. Ron eyed the objects and raised his eyebrows.

"Who'd you write to?" he asked curiously. "Sirius?" he guessed, looking around to check if there was someone. A group of chattering second year girls was sitting far on the other side of the room, not near enough to hear. Harry looked at Ron. How'd he guess? He decided it'd be better to tell him the truth straightaway.

"Yup. I asked him to help me with the potion," he answered. Now that he thought about it, what had he just done? Sirius would undoubtedly come, whether it was to help him or not, and expose himself to danger. If he got caught, it'd be Harry's fault.

Ron seemed to take a different look on the matter. He nodded slowly, taking it in.

"Right. With Sirius' help you'll be fine, I guess."

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, and Ron caught its meaning instantly.

"Oh, come on. You know I only agreed with Hermione because she's scary when she's angry," he defended himself, allowing a small smirk. Harry laughed flippantly.

"Yeah, well, next time I'd love a little support, you know?" he teased, smiling. Ron punched him lightly on the shoulder, and then patted his own chest with a fist.

"I'm here for you, mate"

Harry rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists. The question now was, would Sirius agree to help? And if not, how would he work on his own?

Only time would tell.


	3. Padfoot Wants In

* * *

Sirius' reply came faster than Harry could've thought possible, and with an exhausted Hedwig; the writing seemed hurried and excited, the signature almost undecipherable. But it was him alright, his godfather through and through.

_Harry,_ it said.

_I'm coming right this instant. I agree wholeheartedly on your views, but trust me on this; you want to plan thoroughly before taking any action._

_Meet me at the Shrieking Shack at 6:00pm tomorrow._

_I'm bringing an old colleague of mine. He'll help us, too._

_See you soon,_

**_Padfoot_**

Perfect, Harry thought. He'd be inconspicuous in the Shrieking Shack, and he was helping Harry! Beaming at the thought, Harry folded the letter and stuffed it inside his trunk at the end of his bed. He'd just have to figure out a way to sneak out after classes to meet him and whoever his colleague was. Harry mulled over this for a moment. Who'd Sirius bring that they could both trust completely and who had an inkling about complicated magic like this? He had no idea.

That Sunday seemed to come and go in the blink of an eye. Before he knew it, Harry was once again lying on his bed, trying (and failing) to fall asleep. His mind was whirring with possibilities and plans that he and Sirius would have to make. At least the dream had given him a few answers to start with. They'd have to go back to the year 1974, just when Voldemort's power was rising in the first war. The question was still where and how. The potion they needed to brew was far more complicated than anything he'd ever seen in his life. It contained more than two-hundred ingredients, half of them not stacked in the Hogwarts cabinets, and not less than a hundred steps, including letting it brew for as many days as hearts that were going to be using the vortex. It was another reason why Harry wanted to do this alone. At least it seemed quick. Harry easily remembered the Polyjuice Potion he'd made with Ron and Hermione in their second year. That had taken a month. Harry didn't have a month, now.

The spells had been pretty simple, or at least looked simple. They didn't involve lots of wand-waving, and he was sure Sirius would be able to make them work. But those came at the end, when the potion was done. Harry closed his eyes and images of Voldemort's bodiless eyes haunted him. They started to multiply, until his vision was filled to the brim with hungry red eyes like a serpents'. Then the laughter came; maniac, high, cold laughter. A flash of green light…

Harry bolted upright, and took a few shallow breaths. The few strands of hair that fell over his eyes were plastered onto his sweaty face. He looked around the dark room, faint light coming from the open window; it had been another nightmare. Looking at his watch, he realized it was six in the morning, and classes would start in two hours. Deciding he'd better start the day early and take a shower now, Harry stood up and made his way to the bathroom. He undressed and stepped into the cold running water. It flowed over his head, face, and body, relieving him of last night's stress. He spent around five minutes in the shower, and when he was done, he stepped out and quickly got into his school robes. Harry exited the bathroom and found Dean and Seamus already awake, but still in their pajamas. Ron, as usual, was snoring loudly behind the crimson curtains around his bed, as was Neville.

"Morning, Harry!" called Dean, who was sitting on his bed, talking to Seamus. Harry smiled and returned the greeting with a wave of his hand.

"Been up much?" he asked, walking over to his trunk to pick out the books he needed for his first lesson, and his wand. It was Seamus who answered, with a tone of both accusation and amusement.

"Your shower woke us up,"

"About time," Harry opined, grinning. Dean chucked a pillow at him, which he miraculously dodged. Being a seeker, Harry had amazing reflexes. He'd been told it had run in his family. He picked up the pillow from the ground and hurled it at Ron's bed. It zoomed through the curtains and a yelp was heard from the other side.

"Wuzzgoinon?" mumbled Ron, his tired, confused face appearing from the other side of his hangings. Dean and Seamus snickered. That had, apparently, woken Neville, too, who had sat up on his bed, his covers somehow on the floor.

"What time is it?" somebody asked, yawning.

"'Bout seven, I reckon," suggested Dean, standing up and walking toward the bathroom. "I call shower first!" he cried, shutting the door behind him as he passed. Harry threw his pajamas into his open trunk and then closed it. He looked out the window at the still-snowy grounds, in the direction of the Whomping Willow. In almost twelve hours, he'd meet Sirius.

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He was supposed to be up in the Gryffindor Common Room, doing his homework, working on that essay for Charms, perhaps talking amongst his friends, laughing, having fun. He was, instead, sneaking outside, making his way to the Whomping Willow, the invisibility cloak that had once belonged to his father fluttering around him in the gusty wind. The sky was fully dark already, even if it was only a quarter to six, because it was midwinter. As he approached the menacing tree, his heart began to race. Harry clutched his wand and looked around him, making sure the area was safe; that he was absolutely alone.

The thick, strong branches of the Willow wavered threateningly on their spot. Harry quietly slipped off the cloak and stuffed it under his left arm. He aimed his wand at the tree and muttered, "_Immobilus_."

As if on cue, the Willow immediately stopped moving. Harry crouched down and peeked around the trunk, trying to find the hole that he knew would lead him to the Shrieking Shack. He found it, got onto his knees, and crawled inside. The air was damp inside, the soil ceiling getting lower by the minute. He crawled for what seemed like hours, until he finally found the trapdoor at the end of the tunnel, a sliver of light shining down from a creak at its edge. He pushed it open and heaved himself onto the wooden floor that surrounded him. Warily, Harry stood up and got his wand out. There was light coming from the room on the second floor. He made his way up the creaking staircase and stopped just outside a door. There were hushed voices coming from inside. Harry opened the door.

"Hello, Harry," called a pleasant voice to his right.

Sirius was sitting on the edge of an extremely shabby bed, looking completely different from when he'd last seen him. The convict look he'd acquired in Azkaban was gone, replaced by a handsome man in his late thirties, still wearing rather tattered and scruffy clothes, but with a brilliant smile plastered onto his face. Harry beamed.

"Sirius," he said, taking three long steps towards him. His godfather stood up and the two hugged. It was then that Harry noticed the other man in the room.

"Professor Lupin?" he inquired unbelievingly. Lupin stood up, smiling.

"An old friend of mine recently called for help. I couldn't say no to a marauder's son, could I?"

Harry grinned. He was standing in a room with his father's two best friends.

"Well, Harry," started Sirius, sitting back down on the bed. "Tell us all we need to know. We're in,"

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Half an hour later, Sirius, Lupin, and Harry still sat in the Shrieking Shack, discussing events. Harry had told them everything he knew, starting with Voldemort's plan, to what they would need to do in order to create a time vortex.

"But the potion's the most complicated part of it," Harry reminded them for the third time. "Because we need lots of ingredients that we don't have,"

"You're forgetting, Harry, who you're with," Sirius signaled to himself and Lupin, smirking. "Once a marauder, always a marauder,"

Harry raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"I'll leave it to you two, then,"

"Anyway. We should get started as soon as possible, gain some time (pun not intended) before Voldemort forms his plan into action,"

Sirius clapped his hands together and rubbed them, as if building up for some big adventure.

"Would it be okay for you, Harry, if you met with us at least once every two days to see how the potion's going? After all, you're the one with the manuscript," Lupin reasoned, his brown eyes already thinking one step ahead.

Harry nodded.

"How long do you think it will take to finish?"

Sirius thought for a moment, and then looked at Lupin.

"A week?" he consulted, and received a nod. "Yes, at the most, I think. Don't forget we have to let it brew for three days,"

Frowning, Harry shook his head.

"No, no, it's only one day. Apparently it's a day per person who travels. That's out biggest advantage against Voldemort. He's planning on taking Blood Snatchers,"

"Ah, but that, Harry, is where you are wrong," Sirius half-smiled, putting an arm around his shoulders. "We're going with you,"

Harry jumped off the bed, wearing an expression of utter shock.

"What!? No! Why?"

"Did you really think we'd let you do this alone?" Lupin asked, frowning a little.

"Y-yes, I mean. This is something I need to do. You don't have to get involved. I wouldn't have asked you if I could've done the magic on my own," Harry stumbled over his words, desperately trying to convey his meaning.

"Come off it, Harry. We're coming whether you like it or not. Trust me; you're not the only one with the Wizarding World's best interest at heart,"

Harry stared at Sirius, then at Lupin. He decided they were serious (once more, no pun intended).

"All right, three days, then." He mumbled, pondering over this new plan. Sirius grinned and squeezed him into a one-armed half-hug.

"That's my boy,"

"Anyway, once we get to whatever year we have to get to, I think one of us should stay at Hogwarts and keep an eye on the future Death Eaters," Lupin announced, eyeing Sirius. Harry had an inkling of where this was going, but before he could complain, something else struck him.

"Hogwarts?"

"Well, yes. We think Voldemort might be planning on going somewhere in or near the castle. He'd want to have the satisfaction of doing it right under Dumbledore's nose," Sirius explained carefully, standing up and starting to pace.

"So, as Remus was saying, I think it's best if _you_ stayed at Hogwarts and-"

"I'm not staying behind!" Harry interjected angrily, standing up as well.

"Not staying behind, Harry. We just need somebody to check that everything's going as normal and that Voldemort's not yet recruited his old followers," Lupin added, as if trying to reason with a child. Harry shook his head.

"No. I came up with this plan. You can't make me sit back and watch! I want to fight!"

"There won't be any fighting. And you wouldn't be sitting back. You'd be mingling with whoever's at Hogwarts during that year, and observing enemy territory from the inside. Sirius and I will most probably be around the school grounds, and outside them, searching for any sign of a time vortex,"

Harry frowned, still unconvinced. "And what if you do find it?"

"We'd immediately summon you and you'd come and investigate further with us, I promise," affirmed his godfather, stopping his pacing to smile down at him.

"Fine, then,"

How had he come to agree to everything they said, again? Well, at least he could make the most out of this and try to explore Hogwarts on his own.

"But you need a story, of course," noted Lupin, scratching his chin.

"A story?"

"Yes, I mean, what are you going to say to everyone when they realize you weren't there for your first three Hogwarts years?"

"Oh," Harry admitted.

Sirius was back to pacing, and a few seconds later, he snapped his fingers.

"Got it!"

"Always the first one to come up with a good excuse, he was…" mumbled Lupin, smiling a little at a long-forgotten memory. Sirius ignored this and walked over to them.

"So, Harry. Your father, a muggle called Jacob Parker, married an Italian witch named Linda Esiccionni, and moved to Italy with her. They had you, and you turned out to have magical powers, like your mom. But your dad didn't want to send you to Hogwarts, like Linda wanted, and so she had you homeschooled. A month ago, your father died, and your mom sent a letter to Dumbledore, who agreed to have you at Hogwarts. You just arrived, and were sorted into Gryffindor, and voila!" Sirius finished with a small flourish of his hand, and grinned.

"I'm impressed," acknowledged Lupin, nodding.

Harry laughed. "That's actually really good,"

"Thank you," replied Sirius, accepting the compliments, "Now, all we need to know is the date, and you're set!"

Harry realized he'd forgotten to mention the year he'd found.

"Oh, that's easy. We're going to have to go to 1974," he said offhandedly. He was about to add something to Sirius' story when he realized his audience had gone silent. He looked up. Sirius and Remus were looking at each other, both their eyes fogged with distant memories, a sad smile creeping onto their faces.

"What's wrong?"

Sirius turned to face him, the sad smile still there.

"That, Harry, was the year your father, your mother, Moony here, and myself, were exactly your age."

Harry stood frozen on the spot, a chilling sensation making its way up his spine.

"So, that means –if I'm going to be staying at Hogwarts-…"

"That means that, for as long as we're there, you'll be the fifth marauder,"

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